Free The Tempering of Men by Elizabeth Bear Page B

wrong-footing yourself like this?
    â€œâ€™Tis not what he meant,” Vethulf said, hoping that it would be acceptable for him to defend Isolfr on this point. “He judges himself only, no one else.”
    â€œAnd judges himself harshly,” Freyvithr said, frowning. “No god asks this punishment from you, wolfsprechend.”
    Isolfr shook his head. “I know what my choices make me, godsman.”
    â€œA nithling?” Freyvithr said. “If that is what you think, you know nothing, either of choices or of yourself.”
    And Vethulf wondered—although he knew he would not ask—whether it was chance that brought Viradechtis’ pups charging into the clearing at just that moment, swarming from Isolfr to Vethulf and back again and making conversation an impossibility. Their mother followed them, coming to rest her massive head on her brother’s shoulder. She was watching the godsman, Vethulf saw, not with hostility but with a kind of cool assessment that reminded him of Kjaran in the days leading up to the mating that had made the Franangfordthreat. Each wolf they encountered had been scrutinized with that same dispassionate thoroughness. Kjaran had known all his potential competitors, all the wolves that might stand between him and what he wanted, long before Viradechtis went into heat.
    And Viradechtis was far more protective of Isolfr than she was even of her pups. She turned her head for a moment, meeting Vethulf’s eyes, and he got a clear, wordless impression: she had had, and would have, many puppies. She had only one Isolfr.
    And she was going to keep him.
    *   *   *
    After dinner, as Brokkolfr was wondering whether he ought to go hunting—whether he wanted to go hunting—or whether he should use the last of the light to mend his spare shirt, Kari approached him. He did it carefully, after the manner of a wolf approaching a stranger, stopping where Brokkolfr could see him and waiting until Brokkolfr raised his head to come closer. Hrafn didn’t bother; he bounced up to Amma and playbowed as if they were littermates. And Amma, not yet so gravid to disdain tag-and-wrestle, took him up on it. Kari and Brokkolfr both watched them a moment; when Brokkolfr looked back at Kari, the wildling was smiling.
    Then he dropped his head, the tips of his ears going pink, and said, “I wondered if you wanted to go for a walk?”
    â€œA walk?” Brokkolfr said. “To hunt, you mean?”
    Kari shrugged. “If Hrafn and Amma want to. But no. Just a walk.” He looked up, and he was still smiling, although clearly embarrassed. “There’s something I think you’d like to see.”
    Brokkolfr remembered Amma’s mating; Kari had been last of the five men who had covered Brokkolfr as their brothers covered Amma. By then, Brokkolfr had climaxed three times, and although he wanted, needed, a fourth, he wasn’t sure he was physically capable of it. He and the blanket he knelt on were sodden with sweat, every part of his body ached, and the long muscles in his thighs were starting to quiver. Kari had slid into him easily and then stopped, hands on Brokkolfr’s hips, body poised and tense. Brokkolfr had been on the verge of cursing at him to move when he said, “Here. Let’s—,” and wrapping both arms around Brokkolfr, much as Hrafn at that moment had his forelegs around Amma’s barrel, he rolled them both down onto their sides.
    â€œOh,” Brokkolfr said in surprise and relief, and then, “Oh!” as Kari’s hand slid from his belly to his sex. And he’d gotten that fourth climax after all.
    And since then, like the other men whose brothers had covered Amma, Kari had been … “kind” was the best word Brokkolfr knew, even though it was a calumny to suggest that anyone in Franangford had been unkind. For they had not. But they were all strangers to him, for he and Amma were